


In sickness and in health

by AnnieDMC



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Gen, M/M, in sickness and in health, romance if you squint very very very hard, they could have landed in Sevilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieDMC/pseuds/AnnieDMC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, sometimes fate can be quite cruel, especially when it makes you stay over in the house of the person you've been trying to avoid for the past weeks - but although evil as it seems, it is wise. Maybe, just maybe, the curelty of fate may result in a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why are we here?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request from my dear South American fellow ChileanRach, who deserves some kudos for this great idea!
> 
> And all of you who read this, I hope you enjoy ^-^!

Lionel Messi looked absentmindedly out the plane’s window, barely aware of the pilot’s voice echoing through the speakers. He had his headphones on, though he hadn’t even realized that his cellphone was off, thus no music could be heard. He was lost in his thoughts, not paying attention when the pilot announced that the plane would be landing shortly.

He had had a brief talk with Kun right after the match ended, and though the latter was a little bit less friendly than normal (Probably because of the loss), they both had joked around and had shared a very entertaining conversation. But it wasn’t until Agüero commented a “You look a little pale,” that Lionel knew that something was wrong. When Barcelona played against Malaga, he had felt a little dizzy, tired and just plain sick. His head swirled around, and sometimes he felt he was going to black out right in the field.

He remembered, guiltily, as Luis Enrique and a couple of his teammates asked him if he was good to play. He had answered with an “Of course!” in his haste of helping the team, and had been adamant about staying in the field when his Captain asked if he wanted to be changed.

Maybe, just maybe, he should have rested. But he loved his team, and he loved football, and the idea of missing a match made him feel worse than whatever sickness it was that he had, and so he had pushed all his doubts right in the back of his head, hidden right behind his desire to play. However, things didn’t result as well as he had initially thought. He had ended up walking almost most of the match against Malaga, never fighting a ball, and never really facing the defenders. He could say that his performance improved against his best friend’s team, and he had done a much better job against them than against Malaga. Nonetheless, as soon as the match finished, he started to feel sick, but he decided to push that feeling aside, _again_.

“Hey, Leo. Time to go.” A large hand was placed over his shoulder, making him jump a little. His widened eyes moved up, staring somewhat confusedly into the blue orbs of Barça’s number three.

“Ah, yeah…” He looked around, noticing that the plane had already landed and half the team was already out, and the other half was in their way out.

He stood up, took his entire luggage and followed Piqué out of the plane, stopping dead in his tracks when he realized that he was not in a very familiar place.

His hand shot up, tugging on Gerard’s sleeve. “W-where are we?”

The central defender looked down at him, nodding forward and making Leo start to walk again. “What do you mean ‘where are we’?”

“This is not Barcelona’s airport,” The number ten said, an indignant air clearly heard in his voice. Why did nobody tell him anything about it?

“Are you serious, dude?” Neymar’s voice had Leo turning his head to the right, spotting the young striker walking next to him.

“Yes, I’m serious. Where-” His eyes widened as the team advanced towards the exit hall. His heart started to beat rather fast as he spotted the big, white, bold letters in one of the walls.

Welcome to the _Adolfo Suárez Madrid-Barajas_ Airport.

“No…”

“Leo, were you even paying attention?” Ney asked as he noticed the little panic attack Argentina’s captain was having.

“W-why are we here?! H-how did we end up here?!”

Piqué frowned, seeing how scared Leo’s voice sounded. “Calm down. Why are you so nervous, anyway? Didn’t you hear Luis Enrique say that Barcelona’s airport was closed because apparently a thunderstorm was preventing planes from landing?”

Leo shook his head, trying in vain to calm down. Really? Of all the places in Spain where they could have landed… Madrid? _Madrid_?!

He almost crashed against Dani when the Brazilian stopped to take some pictures with a couple fans. He muttered an apology, earning a raised brow from the wing back and a worried look from Xavi and Suárez, who happened to see the incident. He ignored their worried stares and kept on walking.

“Then where are we going to stay?” Leo whispered to Gerard, looking left and right and smiling and waving as some fans excitedly raised their hands trying their best to gain some attention.

“Well, Lucho called some hotels as soon as they notified us that we wouldn’t be landing in Barcelona, and he managed to get some last minute reservations, though he couldn’t find enough rooms for all of us to stay in.”

“So what are we going to do?” Leo asked again, kneeling down to pick up a shirt a fan had thrown at him, singing it with a marker the young German goalkeeper had handed him and throwing it back to the grateful man that kept on praising him.

“Well, we called a couple friends, and they were okay with us staying with them.”

“What friends?”

“You see, Xavi called Iker, and he was more than pleased to welcome our captain, and even asked if Andrés wanted to stay too. Dani and Adriano are staying over in Marcelo’s, and I called Cris.”

“Y-you did what?” He stopped walking again, throwing Piqué an ‘I-can’t-believe-you’ look.

Piqué sighed. “Leo, stop being so dramatic. Believe it or not, we spent some good times back in United. Heck, he even said that you and Ney could come too!”

_“…What?”_

 


	2. I will find out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for Leo to face his fears and to face his best friend. Finally Cris and Leo reunited. What's going to happen between the Argentinian and the Portuguese once they see each other again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worst chapter summary ever, but I tried xD  
> So, uh... if you didn't notice, I changed my two-shot to a three-shot. Heh, look at that. Anyway, I hope you like and enjoy this chapter :)

Leo fidgeted uncomfortably as he, Piqué and Neymar waited for Cristiano to appear. He was nervous, and unfortunately hadn’t been able to hide it. Luis Enrique had asked him at least five times if he was okay, and five times he had answered that yes, he was okay, just tired.

But even if he was indeed tired, he was not okay. He didn’t want to see Cristiano, and had been purposely avoiding him for the past weeks, thanking the heavens that both of them played for different clubs and lived in different cities. He had not answered his phone calls and had completely ignored his text messages. He knew that the Portuguese was worried about him, but he didn’t have the strength to face him, not in that moment. He knew his actions were wrong and that Cristiano didn’t deserve that treatment, but he couldn’t help it. He felt that Cris had already more than enough to worry about; he didn’t need Leo to be depending on him every time something wrong happened, he had his own problems to deal with, and Leo certainly didn’t want to be one of them, even if it meant hurting Real Madrid’s ace feelings.

It was really strange how their rivalship had turned into friendship. Leo still remembered how he used to believe that Cristiano was nothing but a self-centered, selfish, and egocentric person. Okay, maybe he was a little egocentric, but his heart was as big as his mouth. Even if he pretended to be better than others, he always showed respect to his rivals and gave a 100% in every match no matter how ‘small’ the enemy, never looking down on anybody.

Through time, Leo was able to see the real Cris. That man who complained about a restaurant yet left a very generous tip for the waiter. That man who kept on babbling on how he was better than the ‘Argentina’s genius’, yet congratulated him whenever given the chance. That man who was always telling Leo he wished Barcelona would lose, yet getting mad at him when Barcelona actually lost. Cristiano had become his best friend, his brother, his shoulder to cry on, and his ears to listen. He didn’t want to lose that, to lose _him_ , but right now the last person on earth he wanted to see was him.

Oh, sometimes fate could be quite cruel, huh?

He stood up awkwardly from the bench he was seated at when he noticed Neymar waving excitedly at the black, Audi truck that soon slowed down to a stop in front of them.

The driver door was opened, and Cristiano flashed a smile to Ney and Piqué as they walked up to greet him.

Lionel stood still; visibly tensing as Madrid’s seven approached him. “Uh… hi.”

Cristiano rolled his eyes, and darkly muttered a short greeting, before advancing towards Luis Enrique, who had been waiting for Iker, Marcelo and Ronaldo to pick up his remaining players. The others had already been sent to the hotel.

Iker had arrived a couple minutes before than Cristiano, and had soon been involved in a conversation with Barça’s six and eight.

Marcelo had yet to appear, though Alves had said that the Brazilian was stuck in some traffic, he would be arriving soon.

“Hi, Cristiano. Thank you so much for what you’re doing.” Lucho told him, his had coming to shake the Portuguese’s when offered.

“Yeah, no problem. So, at what time should I bring them to the airport tomorrow?”

“At nine in the night, if that’s okay with you. We couldn’t get any early flights, they were already full, and it seems our plane had some technical issues, so we can’t use it for the moment.”

Portugal’s captain nodded. “Okay, I understand. And don’t worry; I will take care of those three in the time being.”

Barça’s coach smiled. “Again, thank you for what you’re doing for us. I will see you tomorrow then. You must be tired, and it’s already pretty late. Go back and get a well-deserved rest.”

Cristiano nodded, said a curt goodbye and returned to his car. He noticed Piqué and Ney were already putting their luggage in the trunk, and Leo was looking everywhere with an almost desperate appearance, still standing in the spot he had seen him a couple of minutes before.

“What, are you waiting for your equipment to fly or something? Put you damn bags in the trunk.” He snapped, venom coating his words. He felt a little bit bad (Just a little, though) when Lionel winced and immediately did as told, hastily accommodating his bags next to Neymar and Piqué’s.

“So, are you ready to go now?” Iker asked, approaching with Xavi and Andrés right behind him. “And good night, Cris. Nice to see you.”

Rolling his eyes, Cristiano waved at Iker, Xavi and Andrés. “Night, people. Yeah, nice to see you too, captain. It’s been a long time.” He commented sarcastically, after all, they had been together in that morning’s training.

“Don’t kill them, okay, Cris. I’m counting on you.”

“The hell do you think I am?!” Cris snapped, earning a small chuckle from his captain. “Aren’t you leaving, too?”

“Well, we’re waiting for Marcelo. Just to make sure Dani and Adriano are safe.” Xavi explained. “But you should go now.  All of you look tired, especially Leo,” he motioned to his fellow teammate, who had a downcast look, and was clumsily shifting his stance every few seconds.

“Now that you point that out,” Iniesta commented, “He seemed a little out of it back in the plane.”

“Hmm…” Cris hummed silently, his gaze lingering in Barcelona’s ten. “He must be _really_ tired, after missing that penalty kick.”

“Cristiano!” Iker shouted, turning and giving an apologetic look to Xavi and Andrés. “I’m so sorry. He just doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” Xavi assured. “If anything we should be grateful to all of you. “ Then he turned to the Luso. “I hope you can handle those three. If anything happens, do not hesitate to call me, or Iker.”

“Yeah, whatever. Guess I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good night.”

Cristiano opened the door of his car, getting in and making a face when he realized Gerard was his co-pilot, Leo and Ney were quietly sitting in the back. “No jokes, or I’m dropping you, Geri.”

Gerard just laughed, lifting his hands in a peace sign before putting on the seatbelt. “Okay, fine. No jokes.” Although he knew Cristiano would never ‘drop’ him, he didn’t really want to get into the bad side of the Portuguese.

The ride towards Real Madrid’s seven house seemed eternal for Leo. He stood in there in the back, not paying attention to Gerard and Cristiano’s conversation as his big, dark, shiny eyes took in the landscape of the city in the night. Madrid was very beautiful.

He briefly looked at Ney, who had opened the window and was taking pictures of everything he could. The young Brazilian had been to Madrid countless times, but he had never had the opportunity to really observe the city.

He opened the window a little bit, finding the gusting wind comforting and refreshing. His eyelids started to drop and in a couple seconds he was completely asleep, curled up against the door.

Cristiano stopped at a red light and looked through the rear mirror, his sharp hazel eyes softening as he looked at the sleeping Argentinian. His face was relaxed, and for the first time since he saw him, he seemed at peace.

He focused on the road again, with just one thought present in his mind.

_“I will find out what the hell is wrong with you, Leo.”_

*-*

Look at those eyes! <3

__


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as the four men finished eating, the Portuguese started the house tour. Lionel really wanted to avoid it, considering he already knew the mansion-like-house like the palm of his hand, though he ended up following them either way. 
> 
> That idea ended up being stupid as hell, considering that as soon as Cristiano showed Gerard and Neymar their rooms, Leo had been cornered by him in the first opportunity presented.
> 
> “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! After 37587435743 years of waiting I've updated! I'm really sorry it took me so long, but here it is! I tried to be serious, but I am really incapable of being serious, so I kind of screwed everything and... yeah. Either way I hope you like it.  
> Language warning 'cause Cris loves using bad words~!

Leo mumbled in his sleep as he was shaken awake. His tired dark hazel eyes opened and he gasped almost unconsciously as he met another pair of fiery hazel eyes.

“Oh… I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he apologized, not really knowing what else to say. He faintly heard Gerard snickering from somewhere behind him and Ney scowling at him for that, but he was way too focused in the figure in front of him to pay any attention. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat as Cristiano rolled his eyes.

“We’re here.” The Portuguese announced, stepping back so the Argentinian could get off the car. Leo stumbled a little, his mind was still clouded with sleep, and Cris immediately reached for his shoulder, placing his hand over it to steady the shorter male. “You okay?” He asked half-heartedly, not really straining himself not to sound as worried as he felt.

“Y-yeah, sorry.” Leo answered, sending him a small, unsure smile. He looked down, finding the tiled garage floor way more interesting than anything else.

Neymar approached the pair, politely asking if he could get his luggage out the trunk. Cris nodded, returning to the driver’s seat and pulling the designated lever that opened the trunk. Ney thanked him, carefully lifting the door and taking as much bags as he could. Gerard helped him, and as soon as Leo reacted it was too late. Both of his teammates had taken his bags as well, leaving him to fidget with his empty hands.

Cris had already started walking; chatting idly with Gerard and twirling the house’s keys in one finger, occasionally laughing at some of the jokes the Spaniard threw. Ney followed close behind, his green eyes going wide at the sight of the Portuguese’s house. To say it was huge was an understatement. It was gigantic. GI-GAN-TIC.

Leo hesitated for a second before following his companions, finally lifting his downcast gaze to admire the house he had visited many times before, though in more friendly terms.

His face lit up as he saw Cristiano’s dogs running to meet them. The Labradors wagged their tails contently, and despite it being too late in the night, they were as energetic as ever. Barcelona’s ten couldn’t help but laugh when one of the dogs jumped on Neymar, making him fall. The poor Brazilian let out a strangled ‘oof’ sound as he hit the floor, chuckling as the dog that had made him fall started to lick his face.

Cris almost sweat dropped, having forgotten about his dogs. “Spinee!” He called, approaching the dog and gently lifting it off from Neymar. “Sorry Ney, they get overly friendly whenever someone visits.”

Leo offered one hand to Neymar, helping the young footballer to his feet. “No problem, Cris. I have a dog on my own, I’m used to this.” He smiled, swiftly patting his clothes and picking up the luggage that had fallen.

The Portuguese guided the group to the living room, not missing the spark in Leo’s eyes as he happily petted the dogs, whispering cute names at them.

The Argentinian was a dog lover, and Cris never understood why he didn’t have a dog.

He stopped in his tracks, remembering the exact answer to that question.

“ _Because I have yours_!”

He scoffed at the memory, advancing towards one of the couches and heavily dropping on it. “Are you hungry?” he asked as his three companions sat down. Ney and Leo sat in the three person sofa while Gerard simply stood. The defender sported a wide grin, nodding as Cris sighed heavily.

“I can prepare something if you’re too tired, though.” He offered.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want you to destroy my kitchen, but you can help me.” He said, standing up and motioning for Piqué to follow him.

When both of them were out of sight and surely out of earshot, Neymar turned his attention to Leo, who was still patting the dogs. “Have you ever been here?”

The short striker nodded his head; there was no point in lying to Ney, especially since he already knew the answer. “I… uh… Cris and I are- were good friends.”

The Brazilian nodded, half knowing that Leo had been avoiding the Portuguese, and if he was being honest, and despite loving his teammates as much as he did, he had to agree with Cris. If someone he cared for purposely avoided him, he would be mad at that person too. “Why don’t you try to fix things? You know he’s not going to take the first step, because he doesn’t have to, I think you should go for it, Leo. Do you really want to lose his friendship? Do you really want to lose him?” He questioned, and he could see that the rhetorical question weighed on Lionel. He knew Leo would give everything to make up with Cris.

“He has enough worries as it is. I don’t want to become a burden for him.” He whispered shyly.

“Do you really believe he will ever think of you as a burden?”

“…I don’t know. I don’t… no, no he wouldn’t.” Cristiano could be the biggest jerk on earth, but his goddamn enlarged ego was every bit as big as his affection. As cheesy as that sounded in Leo’s head, he knew Cristiano would never, ever think of him as a burden.

“There’s your answer. Talk to him, Leo.” Both players ended the conversation as soon as Gerard entered the living room, happily announcing that dinner was ready (How in the hell it had taken them so little time, they’d never know). He practically hauled Barça’s ten and eleven to their feet and dragged them to the dining room, where Cristiano had busied himself placing the plates and the cutlery over the six seats table.

Ney and Leo stood awkwardly at the entrance, waiting for the Portuguese to invite them in.

The invitation, however, never arrived because before Cristiano could say anything they were being pushed forward by Spain’s central defender.

“Don’t be shy guys, time to eat!” Gerard said, smirking as he ‘accidentally’ pushed Leo against Cris, making both of them bump into each other.

“Uh, sorry…” Leo apologized, turning his head to glare at his taller friend. He had totally done that on purpose. The bastard!

The Argentinian sat next to the Brazilian while the Portuguese and the Spaniard sat in front of them. All of them eat quietly, although half of Leo’s dinner mysteriously found its way in Cristiano’s dogs mouth. Lionel knew the dogs loved any kind of food, and he couldn’t help it when they looked at him with such, big, puppy eyes.

“Stop feeding them!” Cris had snapped as soon as he realized the Argentinian hadn’t eaten much of the food. “They already ate, _Lionel_. That food is for you.”

Leo nodded obediently, wincing at the sound of is whole name coming from his rival’s mouth. “Okay. Although I’m not that hun-”

“Just eat.”

Nodding again, Argentina’s striker reluctantly picked up some of the food with the fork, shoving it in his mouth, chewing and forcing it down his throat.

He didn’t feel like eating. Leo didn’t know if he should blame the stress, the pressure or Cristiano for his lack of hunger.

He pouted lightly as he tasted some pepper alongside onion and tomato inside the omelet he was eating. He hated pepper!

Slowly lifting his head he noticed the deadpan expression his greatest rival was giving him.

“What?”

Cris shrugged and kept eating, though Lionel could have sworn he saw a small smirk. The _boludo_ had probably put the pepper there on purpose.

The short Argentinian narrowed his eyes and as slyly as he could, gathered all the pepper in the soup spoon, and as he saw Gerard talking to Cristiano, took the opportunity to accidentally knock down the silver piece of cutlery. The pepper however wasn’t wasted, as soon as it touched the floor, both dogs had almost vacuumed it.

He threw a smug look at the unamused Portuguese that had been kind of aware of what Barça’s ten was doing.

Neymar and Gerard wore equally surprised expressions as Leo reached down to pick up the spoon, apologizing in a very I-regret-nothing-way and proceeding to keep eating.

As soon as the four men finished eating, the Portuguese started the house tour. Lionel really wanted to avoid it, considering he already knew the mansion-like-house like the palm of his hand, though he ended up following them either way.

That idea ended up being stupid as hell, considering that as soon as Cristiano showed Gerard and Neymar their rooms, Leo had been cornered by him in the first opportunity presented.

“We need to talk.” His voice dripped with venom and Lionel couldn’t help but gulp loudly as the other caged him between the guest room wall and his body.

Damn tall people to hell.

“I’d rather sleep.”

“Well you _can’t_ unless you tell me what the fuck is happening.”

Sighing loudly, the Argentinian nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll… we can talk, just… get off of me. You’re ruining the view.”

Moving his hand in a flippant manner the taller male complied, not before snorting a “Please. I _am_ the view.”

Leo sat down in the bed, patting the space next to him.

Deciding to just things get over with, he reminding himself to breath as soon as Cris joined him on the bed. “Okay so… I’ve been kind of… sick.”

“Of fucking course, you dumbass! I want to know why you’ve been sick and _why_ the fuck have you been avoiding me! I am your best friend Leo, a heads-up would’ve been nice y’know.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Cris. I really am. Is just that – It’s not easy. I don’t want you to think less of me or think of me as a… burden. I know you would never think of me as one, but I… I was scared. Still am.”

“Shitass coward bitch.”

Not that he expected words of comfort, but an ‘it’s okay, I forgive you’ would have been way better. Though at the same time that would’ve been too out of character for Cristiano to be comfortable with. Well, in the end he believed he did deserve the insult. He was a coward.

“Even I wouldn’t be so cruel. Vomiting in the middle of a field is not a reason to think less of someone.”

Leo glared. “Don’t put it like that. It sounds horrible.”

“You are horrible.”

“Heh, maybe I am.”

“Wait – I didn’t mean to-”

Leo laughed, watching Cristiano’s face go from worried to angry in one single second. “Fucking bitch, stop making fun of me, would you?”

“Me?” Leo pointed at himself. “Make fun of you?” and then pointed at Cristiano, lightly jabbing his chest, action to which the Portuguese swatted at his hand. “You insult me, _boludo_.”

Cristiano scoffed at this, vehemently rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But seriously, did you think that avoiding me wasn’t going to complicate my life?”

“Well-”

“NO! No frigging way, Leo! I couldn’t even concentrate in my fucking games when all I could think about was my best friend in the same situation about to faint in the frigging field!” He exclaimed, combing his chocolate gelled locks with his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not to mention my own goddamn teammates were starting to question me when I actually cheered for fucking Barcelona. By the way, that’s happening never again. Ever.”

A small smile made its way to Leo’s features. The Portuguese kept rambling on and on, about how his life had actually been more complicated than ever, and blaming the Argentinian for that. After a good ten minutes, it seemed the Luso had visible calmed after having vent out everything he wasn’t able to say for the past weeks.

“Are you done?” Leo asked, as politely as possible, thanking God that instead of doing a scene Cristiano just nodded. It was as if he expected Leo’s version of things know. “Okay… my turn to talk, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Leo sat Indian style in the bed as he rearranged his thoughts and thought of a way to expressing all he had felt. “You may not believe this, but… there’s a lot on pressure. I… they compare me with _him_ , all the time. I am not him, never will be. They expect me to be at hundred percent in all my matches, but there are times in which I just can’t. I train every day, I eat healthy, I am _good_ , but that’s never enough. I have to be the best, and if I am, I have to surpass myself, and when I do it’s because that’s the way it _is_ , the way it _has to_ be – but sometimes I just... I just can’t be me and when I do bad, when the team does bad, they all blame me and… it’s hard to…”

“Hey,” The surprisingly soothing voice of the Portuguese brought the Argentinian back to reality. He had been lost in his dark place again, and couldn’t see past the depression and sorrow, again carrying the weight of the world, of Barcelona and Argentine over his small shoulders.

“Y-yeah?”

“Don’t fucking go there, will you? You look awfully pathetic when you talk like that.”

“That’s very nice of you to say.” Please, note the sarcasm.

“What do you want me to say if that’s the truth? You are not him and never will be like him because –and as much as I hate to admit it- you are better, better than him and better than anybody else, so don’t give me that crap.” He breathed, glaring at Lionel for having thought that.

“Coming from you, that really means a lo-”

“Let me finish!”

“Okay…”

“Yeah. Second, you are only human, as much of an alien some people think you are, you are not a goddamn machine, you fall, you fail, you _lose_ , but then again, who doesn’t? The thing is that even after you fall, fail and lose, you stand the fuck up, you success and you win, and that’s the better _you_ , you will ever be.”

“Wow... I didn’t take you for a preacher-”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

“…right.”

“Aha. And last… if you can’t handle the pressure, just quit! Who cares what the others think? The only thing those bastards that call themselves reporters know what to do is gossip – besides, _fútbol_ is a team game. You have got teammates, when you can’t handle it, any of those fuckers should, but if you’re blamed for the loss, then what? They always find someone to blame, and who’s better for that than the star? I mean, look at me. I’m the star, the ace, and when my team losses they tend to blame me. So what? I will do better next time and I will shut their goddamn mouths.”

Both men stood there silently, almost studying each other in detail. A couple of not so awkward minutes passed by slowly.

“Em… are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay… good. Can I talk now?”

“Yup.”

“Okay…”

Cristiano almost, almost, squeaked (not that he would have. He was a man. Men didn’t squeak.) when Lionel hugged him.

“Thank you, Cris, really.”

“Whatever. Just… don’t be as stupid, okay?” He patted the smaller’s man head, and smirked as he felt Leo snort.

“I’ll try my best.”

“You’d better.”

“So,” Lionel slowly broke the hug, looking around shyly. “A-are we good?”

Cris sighed, then nodded and gave Leo a teeth showing smile. “Yeah, we good. But seriously, never do that again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“So, can I load you with all my problems now?”

“Huh?”

“Good. I think I may or may not have accidentally written a mildly offensive twitter – that could be considered M rating, against some Catalan newspaper. Any ideas to say tomorrow on my press conference?”

“Oh, my God, _Cris!_ ”


End file.
